


The Three Ds of Interhouse Party Planning: Decorations, Disagreements, and Draco-F***ing-Malfoy

by GallifreyisBurning



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Draco being a brat, Enemies to Lovers, Epistolary, Event Planning, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Harry being kinda into it, Humor, Light BDSM, M/M, McGonagall's attempts at interhouse unity, Owl Post (Harry Potter), Smut, Spanking, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fic Exchange, but like, poorly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:46:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22638655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyisBurning/pseuds/GallifreyisBurning
Summary: Harry stared at Minerva McGonagall across her wide wooden desk in horror. Surely, surely he hadn’t heard what he thought he had. Because that would be… no. His eighth year was supposed to be simple. Free from dangerous tasks and unwanted responsibilities. She couldn’t possibly expect him to…“I’m sorry, Headmistress, I must have misheard you,” came a cool, posh voice from the chair beside him, irritatingly voicing Harry’s own thoughts. “It sounded like you said you wished for Potter and I to plan a Valentine’s Day ball together.”
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 16
Kudos: 519
Collections: A Very Drarry Valentine's Day Exchange





	The Three Ds of Interhouse Party Planning: Decorations, Disagreements, and Draco-F***ing-Malfoy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bitter_Cake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitter_Cake/gifts).



> This fic was created for the A Very Drarry Valentine’s Day Gift Exchange.
> 
> To bitter_Cake: I hope you like your gift! I tried to mix in parts of a couple of your prompts, as well as all of your favorite tropes from the assignment sheet. I'm pretty entertained by how it turned out, so fingers crossed that you are, too! 
> 
> Many, MANY thanks to EvAEleanor, who was my Alpha, Beta, and general sounding board - I would have been completely stuck without your help!!

January 4, 1999

Harry stared at Minerva McGonagall across her wide wooden desk in horror. Surely, _surely_ he hadn’t heard what he thought he had. Because that would be… no. His eighth year was supposed to be simple. Free from dangerous tasks and unwanted responsibilities. She couldn’t possibly expect him to… 

“I’m sorry, Headmistress, I must have misheard you,” came a cool, posh voice from the chair beside him, irritatingly voicing Harry’s own thoughts. “It sounded like you said you wished for Potter and I to _plan a Valentine’s Day ball_ together.”

McGonagall raised one neat eyebrow at Draco Malfoy over the steaming cup of tea cradled comfortably in her age-lined hands. 

“That is exactly what I said, Mr. Malfoy,” she answered sternly. “Surely you have noticed that morale is low here in the aftermath of the war. The students need something to look forward to, and I believe that pairing the two of you up to organize the event will serve multiple purposes. First, seeing the two of you cooperate will provide a fine example to the other students of—” 

And here, Harry had to fight very hard indeed not to roll his eyes or let out a long-suffering sigh in anticipation of the phrase that seemed to have become McGonagall’s personal mantra this year:

“—inter-house cooperation—” 

And _there it was_ …

“—and secondly, I believe that between the two of you, you have the necessary qualities and skills to make the event a success.”

At that, Harry couldn’t help but scoff. Beside him, he heard his reaction mirrored by Malfoy.

“Headmistress, I don’t wish to be rude—” Malfoy started, and Harry really did roll his eyes this time. _Fat chance of that,_ he thought, purposefully ignoring the fact that Malfoy had not actually been his rude git of a self so far this year, instead mostly keeping his head down and his mouth shut. It was actually a bit disturbing. Not that he was paying attention, or cared, of course. “—but I don’t believe that the students will be particularly disposed to attend an event that I’ve planned,” Malfoy finished, surprising Harry with his self deprecating candor. 

“Yes, well,” McGonagall said, fingers fidgeting against her cup, “I am aware, of course, that there is some lingering hostility toward yourself and certain other students due to the events of prior years. However, I had hoped—” and here, she gave Harry an apologetic look that made his insides shrivel in dread of how that sentence would finish, “—that Mr. Potter’s post-war popularity would perhaps balance that particular effect.” 

Harry couldn’t help the groan that escaped him. Of _course_ that was why she wanted him involved. 

“Headmistress,” he addressed her pleadingly, hoping to appeal to her sense of fairness and logic, “I’m barely keeping up in my classes as it is; I don’t have time to do this, too. And I don’t know the first thing about planning a ball! I never even had a birthday party until I was sixteen, and Mrs. Weasley planned that. The only ball I’ve ever been to was the Yule Ball fourth year, and I only went because I was told I had to go! I ended up spending most of the time sitting with Ron, waiting until I was allowed to leave, and avoiding my date.”

Malfoy had looked over at Harry, mouth partially open as though he intended to say something at the comment about birthday parties, but he turned away quickly and stifled a snort at the description of Harry’s Yule Ball experience. 

“I understand that, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall responded, sounding tired, “but you are one of the strongest wizards in your year—” Harry opened his mouth to protest, but the Headmistress shut him up with a look, “— _which_ will help you with any charms or transfiguration needed in your preparations, and your input will be invaluable in making sure that there are ways for students who are, ah, _less inclined_ toward dancing to enjoy themselves.” 

Harry sighed, knowing he was defeated. 

“As for you, Mr. Malfoy, your mother has hosted some of the preeminent wizarding occasions of our era. I am certain that you will be able to put your experience at such events to good use.” Malfoy grimaced, but nodded. “Well!” the Headmistress said, settling her cup on her desk and clapping her hands together with finality, “That’s settled, then. The ball will take place on Saturday, February 13, so you have just under six weeks to plan. I look forward to seeing what you come up with. Good evening to you both.” And with that they were dismissed.

Harry slumped as he made his way down the spiraling staircase from the Head’s office behind the stiffly upright back of his erstwhile rival. “So, I suppose we should find a time to start talking this over?” he asked the back of Malfoy’s head resignedly. The blond was no longer slicking his hair back severely as he had in previous years, and Harry had the passing thought that it looked quite soft and sort of pretty loose like this. _What the fuck, stop checking Malfoy out,_ he silently berated himself, glad that he had finally gotten the hang of Occlumency.

Malfoy let out an inelegant snort. “Don’t be ridiculous, Potter. I’ll plan the damned thing myself; we’ll just put your name on the invitations to keep McGonagall happy. I don’t need you mucking this up for me.”

Harry bristled, his brief moment of distraction immediately forgotten. “Hey, wait a minute, I’m not about to put my name on something you’ve planned without seeing it first! If I have to claim responsibility for this thing, I want to at least know it’s not going to be horrible.”

Malfoy turned on the steps and glared, heedless of their continuing downward motion. “Of course it’s going to be horrible, Potter, it’s a Valentine’s Day dance full of war survivors.” Harry flinched, but then glared back, and Malfoy rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, letting out a put upon sigh. “ _Fine,_ you can be involved, but I insist on taking lead in planning. Merlin knows I don’t want to see what you’d come up with on your own. I’ll be in touch.”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but they had reached the bottom of the staircase and as soon as the doorway had opened, Malfoy had swept down the hall, his ( _tall, elegant_ Harry’s mind supplied against his will) form disappearing around a corner and out of sight.

Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses. This was going to suck.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

It was breakfast two days later when Harry felt something sharp, but not very hard, knock into his scalp before tumbling from his sleep-mussed curls onto his plate of sausages. “What the…” he muttered, looking down. It was a folded paper crane. Narrowing his eyes at it, Harry looked up, eyes flitting over the bustling Great Hall before meeting Malfoy’s across the room at the Slytherin table. The blond raised one pointed eyebrow, nodded toward the paper bird, and then looked away, focusing on his own breakfast. With a scowl, Harry picked up the now-slightly-damp paper and unfolded it.

_Potter,_

_I’ve decided that the color scheme for the decor at the ball should be rose, cream, and gold. I recognize that red is often favored as a Valentine’s Day color, but in the spirit of “inter-house unity,” I thought it would be better to stay away from anything so Gryffindorish and settle on something more neutral and classic, and less of an eyesore. Does this meet your approval?_

_Draco L. Malfoy_

With a snort, Harry turned the piece of parchment over. “‘Mione, do you have a quill on you?” he asked the curly-haired witch sitting to his left with her head in a book. 

“Of course,” she said distractedly, fishing said quill and a bottle of ink from her bag and handing them to Harry without ever looking up from the volume resting in front of her. 

“Cheers,” Harry said, accepting the materials and flattening the parchment in front of him before scrawling a quick response.

_**Malfoy,** _

**_You know that gold is also a Gryffindor color, right?_ **

**_HP_ **

He looked down at the note, and, realizing that there was no way he was going to be able to recreate the delicate crane that it had arrived to him as, swiftly folded the parchment into a rough paper airplane before charming it to fly back to Malfoy. He might have hoped, just a little, that it would land in the other boy’s morning pumpkin juice, but alas, the Slytherin snatched it from the air with a seeker’s keen reflexes. _Well, and so would I have done if I’d known he was going to chuck things at me,_ Harry’s inner voice grumbled. He watched across the room as Malfoy nimbly unfolded the paper, skimmed it, glanced up to glare at Harry, and then grabbed his own quill and swiftly penned a reply before refolding the crane and sending it back Harry’s way. This time, he was ready for it, and grabbed it neatly out of the air, smirking across the room at the Slytherin, who rolled his eyes and mimed applause ( _and how was he able to make even that look sarcastic?!)_ before returning to his breakfast. 

_Potter,_

_I don’t mean that ghastly yellow you lot refer to as gold. I mean proper gold, obviously. Do stop being an idiot intentionally; it’s tiresome. Now. Color scheme? Approved? You did say you wanted to be involved, you know._

_Draco L. Malfoy_

Harry grinned to himself at how easily he had managed to draw Malfoy’s ire. The two boys had largely avoided each other thus far this year, and there was something almost nostalgic about riling Malfoy up about something stupid. It was a nice change from things being constantly life-or-death. He found he had missed their rivalry; everyone this year was so _deferrant_ to him, and it was getting on his nerves. He was tempted to draw the interaction out, but he saw Ron giving him a curious look, so he shook his head to clear it and wrote back a short response.

_**Yes, Malfoy, your color scheme is fine. Prat. Let me know if you’d like to meet up to ACTUALLY plan this.** _

**_HP_ **

Folding and charming the parchment once more, he sent it off. He didn’t hear from Malfoy any more that day. 

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

When Harry woke up the next day in the early hours of dawn to a persistent poking at his face by a pointy paper beak, he was forcibly reminded that, while he might be adept at riling Malfoy, the game most unfortunately worked both ways. “Gerroff,” he grumbled sleepily, batting ineffectually at the little swan. Malfoy seemed to have added new charms to his origami, however, because it easily avoided Harry’s efforts and continued to peck at his face. When he tried to pull his blankets up over his face, the small bird simply dove in after him. “Urgh, FINE!” Harry finally yelled, causing a chorus of angry grumbles from his still sleeping roommates as he snatched the paper from the air, crumpling one of the delicate wings in his ire. Unfolding it roughly, he squinted futilely at the swirling script for a moment before giving in on a sigh and grabbing his glasses from his bedside table.

_Potter,_

_Rather than go the predictable route and hold the ball in the Great Hall, I’ve decided that we shall use the main courtyard for the event. I’ve begun work on table arrangements and seat assignments, so you needn’t worry about those, but you will need to begin research on the appropriate atmospheric charms to keep wizards and witches in formal robes comfortable for the duration of the event. As you’ve always been more brawn than brain, I thought I should give you a good head start._

_Draco L. Malfoy_

Harry read the note, and then read it again. “Oh he has GOT to be kidding,” he groaned. Then, without thinking about it, he glanced down at his winter-pale arms where they stuck out from the ratty tee shirt he slept in. “Brawn?!” he murmured incredulously. Sure, he’d put on a bit of muscle over the summer, what with helping rebuild the castle and actually getting to eat full meals rather than poorly stewed mushrooms or grapefruit quarters, but _brawny_ seemed a bit of an overstatement, albeit a somewhat flattering one. In fact, the insult was almost… complimentary? Harry shook his head in bewilderment. Maybe it was a jab at his Gryffindorish tendency to act first and think later. 

“Shut _up_ ,” a half-asleep Seamus grouched from a bed across the room as Harry continued to mutter to himself. 

“ _Sorry_ , geez,” Harry grumbled, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed. He was up now; he might as well respond to the stupid git. Scrounging in his bag for a quill and ink, Harry dressed without much care and made his way down to the common room, which was peaceful and cozy at this early hour, the fire already crackling in welcome but no other early risers present to disturb the comfortable quiet. Settling himself into a comfortable chair at one of the worn tables that dotted the room, Harry got ready to begin his correspondence. However, as he stared at his parchment blankly, he had a better idea. With a devilish smile, he conjured his patronus and dictated his message to it. 

_**“Malfoy,** _

**_Merlin, I don’t even know where to START._ **

**_Wait, no, actually I do. WHY THE HELL did you need to send your stupid letter before the sun is even properly up? Some of us do actually sleep, you know. You’re lucky I don’t send you a hexed letter. Wanker._ **

**_Speaking of wankers, it’s too early to think of another name for the kind of person who thinks it’s reasonable to hold a party OUTSIDE in FEBRUARY in SCOTLAND. What the hell kind of charms do you think I know that I can keep several hundred people warm when it’s nearly freezing outside? Not to mention wet. Just hold the stupid thing in the Great Hall like a normal person._ **

**_Also, why the fuck would people need to be in dress robes? More importantly, why would anyone WANT to be? This is supposed to “boost morale.” Forcing people to stand around in stiff, uncomfortable clothes is like… the exact opposite of that._ **

**_And we don’t need a fucking seating chart! People are perfectly able to find chairs by themselves.”_ **

It was the longest message he’d ever attempted to send via patronus, but he was fairly confident it would work. Harry grinned to himself as he imagined Draco being berated by an incorporeal stag whilst surrounded by irritated Slytherins, most of whom were likely still sleeping. He couldn’t wait to see Malfoy’s face in the Great Hall at breakfast.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

It was several hours later when Harry finally made his way to the Great Hall, Hermione and Ron in tow. He was barely through the doors before Malfoy was storming toward him, scowling and furious. “Sorry, guys,” Harry apologized to his friends, “go ahead to the table; I’ll be there in a minute.” Hermione eyed him with narrowed eyes before nodding her assent, but Ron wasted no time getting out of the way of the enraged Slytherin.

“What the hell are you playing at, sending me a Patronus at daybreak, Potter?” the boy hissed angrily as he came to a stop barely a foot from Harry, arms crossed over his chest, grey eyes practically sparking. “My dorm mates were _furious_ at being woken up at such an absurd hour!”

Harry raised an eyebrow and responded, his voice full of faux innocence. “Oh, was that too early? _So_ sorry, I assumed since your note attacked my hair shortly before that, it was the time you preferred to communicate.” When Malfoy merely glared, Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh calm down, you tit, it’s not like you weren’t up anyway.” At this, Draco’s eyes slid to the side, causing Harry to narrow his own at the blond. “You _were_ awake, right?” 

Malfoy grimaced and flushed slightly, his frown wrinkling his nose in a way that Harry found disturbingly on the cute side. “I… might have charmed that note last night before I went to bed,” he admitted grudgingly. 

Harry, to his own surprise (as well as Malfoy’s, judging from the look on his face), let out a shocked bark of laughter at this. “Seriously?!” he asked, his voice amused, “You purposely charmed a letter to wake me up at the crack of dawn, and you have the balls to act like I was the one being unreasonable by responding?” Malfoy blushed more deeply, but met Harry’s eyes defiantly. Harry thought he saw there merest twitch of a potential smile at the corner of the other boys mouth, however, and he shook his head and grinned. “Turnabout is fair play, Malfoy,” he chided, “bear that in mind before you send any more wakeup calls.” Sticking his hands casually into his pockets, he turned and sauntered toward his own table, ignoring the annoyed huff that came from behind him. After he settled in and dished himself up some sausages and toast, he glanced up to see that Malfoy was still watching him from his own table across the room. Feeling smug, he winked cheekily at the other boy. Malfoy flushed slightly, and then glared, if possible, even harder than he had been earlier. 

Ron eyed Harry warily. “Mate, did you just _wink_ at Malfoy?” he asked, sounding concerned.

Harry shrugged. “Only to rile him up a bit,” he answered blasely. 

“Hmmmm,” Hermione chimed in, sounding skeptical.

“Okay, but _why_ are you trying to rile him up? Isn’t that just going to make planning this dance thing worse?” Ron pressed.

Harry hummed noncommittally. “I dunno… it’s just sort of fun to pick on him a bit; get him to fight back. He’s been weird this year; this feels much more normal than him being all… quiet and whatever. I was never going to enjoy planning this stupid ball; I may as well get SOME enjoyment out of the whole thing.”

Hermione gave another skeptical look, but said nothing. Ron just shook his head and went back to his tower of breakfast food. “Whatever you say, mate.”

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

From then on, the letters were sent and received almost entirely during mealtimes. His friends watched him with bemusement (Ron) and knowing smirks (Hermione) as letters soared across the Great Hall. Unsurprisingly, they argued on literally every point. Mildly surprisingly, Harry found that he enjoyed it. Disturbingly, Harry was realizing that observing Malfoy’s reactions across the hall increasingly gave him a bit of a rush that wasn’t entirely about irritating his former nemesis. Also, their messages had begun to include a string of odd, backhanded compliments that Harry was refusing to let himself think about too much. 

_Potter,_

_Of course we’ll be in formal dress and at assigned seats, you uncultured swine. Also, holding the event in the Great Hall is boring and expected. McGonagall assigned you to this event for your ever-so-impressive levels of power, so ask Granger to find the right climate spells if you’re too lazy to do it yourself. You can conjure a patronus, for fuck’s sake, surely you can manage a heating charm?_

_DM_

_**Malfoy,** _

**_I stand by my stances on assigned seating and formal robes. People should at least have the option of dressing Muggle if they want to. Just because you don’t mind that stiff formal get up and know that it suits you doesn’t mean we should all have to wear it. And there’s literally no reason people can’t just sit wherever they want. However, if Hermione can find a reasonable spell to keep everyone comfortable outside, I’ll concede to having the stupid thing in the courtyard. _ **

**_HP_ **

_Potter,_

_If we don’t assign seats, everyone will sit by house, you imbecile, which I’m reasonably sure goes against everything McGonagall hoped this event would lead to. As for Muggle attire, I’ve looked into what constitutes Muggle formalwear, and I suppose it would be acceptable if people chose to incorporate some non-magical elements into their dress—but I insist on a formal dress code regardless. I shan’t allow the tone of the event to be dragged down by those horrid denim trousers Muggles seem to insist on wearing for all occasions. If you’re going to show up in trousers I insist that they at least be part of a three-piece suit, if not a tuxedo. One that fits PROPERLY; not that oversized nonsense you usually sport. Why you insist on hiding that Quidditch player build under those monstrosities is beyond me. _

_For entertainment, it is unfortunately too late to secure the Weird Sisters again, but I believe that if you use your influence and name we might be able to get The Screaming Banshees. I’m assuming that, since you oppose the wearing of formal robes, you also oppose the much-preferable employment of a string quartet?_

_DM_

_**Malfoy,** _

**_Where did you “research” Muggle fashion? I’m honestly impressed you knew where to look!_ **

**_No string quartet. Also, no using of my name to get favors from famous people! I absolutely refuse. Why can’t we just get Lee Jordan to DJ? He’s got his own setup and he’ll do a mix of magical and Muggle music, it’ll be great. Something for everyone!_ **

**_HP_ **

Harry frequently found himself wanting to push Malfoy up against a wall in his frustration at the boy’s refusal to accept any of Harry’s—in his own opinion—completely reasonable suggestions. Malfoy had always driven Harry spare, of course; these urges were nothing new. However, Harry had to admit that those fantasies had changed just a bit; once upon a time, the imaginary shoving had led to an imaginary fistfight—a fairly innocent release of pent up anger and frustration between school rivals. Now, however, they tended to end a bit differently: with a breathless, pliant Malfoy, skin blooming with bruises that looked suspiciously like teeth marks and were primarily located on a long, pale neck. With each snarky response he received, he had to fight back the urge to pin the bastard to the nearest vertical surface and snog his stupid sneering face off. The unwelcome mental image of the posh git in a tuxedo did nothing to assuage that urge. _What the fuck is wrong with me?_ he wondered desperately as he watched the latest correspondence zoom across the hall toward him. 

_Potter,_

_You must be joking. We are not using RECORDED MUSIC at a FORMAL BALL. What sort of gauche nonsense is that? No, if you’re unwilling to use your one marketable asset (your face doesn’t count due to those hideous glasses; honestly, how have you not replaced them in all these years?), we’re going with the string quartet. I’m sure my mother can recommend someone suitable. In the meantime, I’m going to need you to liaise with the house elves on the menu (please see attached) and ensure that they have the proper settings for the tables: cloth napkins, crystal goblets, Goblin-made silver flatware, etc._

_DM_

_**Malfoy,** _

**_Why would I be the one to talk to the house elves? It’s your menu; I don’t even recognize half the words on it. Seriously, why is the entire thing in French?! Also, WE DON’T NEED GOBLIN MADE FORKS, you ridiculous pureblood prat! All beauty and no brains; Merlin._ **

**_HP_ **

_Potter,_

_I’m a pariah in society, obviously I can’t be the one to talk to the house elves—it’ll have to be Famous Potter if we want to get any of the things I’ve asked for. As for why the menu is in French, it’s because French food is better than British food. Obviously. Regarding your commentary on the flatware, I shan’t even bother to explain to you, as you obviously have no idea what is proper for this sort of engagement. Now move that pretty little arse of yours and go hobnob with some house elves._

_DM_

Harry’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline at the final sentence of the latest missive. Looking up, his eyes met Malfoy’s across the room. The blond smirked and winked at him, and Harry felt the blood rushing to his own cheeks. Flustered, he looked back down. _Turnabout is fair play indeed,_ he thought. This bizarre sideways flirting was leaving him irritated and sexually frustrated. After lunch, he resignedly went down to chat with the house elves.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

The meeting with the elves didn’t go as poorly as Harry had expected. They recognized all of the terms on the menu, and even happily explained to Harry what they all meant, providing him with some relief that they wouldn’t be eating anything too bizarre (though why dishes had to be called things like _coq au vin_ instead of just “chicken in wine sauce,” he couldn’t begin to imagine). Once they’d gone over the menu, he gave them a rundown on Malfoy’s requests for the tables. “Ah, he wants everything to be themed in… I think pink, white, and gold?” he told them hesitatingly. He hadn’t kept the original parchment on which Malfoy had laid out his color scheme, but he was pretty sure he was remembering it correctly. “Also, he’s asked for crystal goblets and goblin flatware, but if Hogwarts doesn’t already have that stuff please don’t worry about it.” To himself, he muttered, “He’ll be too busy dealing with the stick up his arse to notice, probably.” 

The elves assured him that they would have everything in order, and that he needn’t worry about anything. Feeling like he’d done more than his part, Harry returned to his dormitory to collect his materials for Charms class that afternoon.

At dinner, he found that Malfoy disagreed rather strongly with Harry’s assessment that he had done his part. He was _livid_ when Harry confirmed that he’d given the house elves the menu and told them to do everything up in pink, white, and gold.

_Potter,_

_You utter IMBECILE. Are you colorblind as well as vision impaired? I asked for ROSE, CREAM, and gold, not pink and white! This is a disaster. I’ll have to go talk to the elves myself._

_DM_

Looking up to see Malfoy gathering his things purposefully, Harry rushed to intercept him at the doors out of the Hall. “Malfoy, stop!” he exhorted breathlessly, grabbing the other boy by the bicep, “Don’t go terrorizing the elves just because I didn’t remember your stupid color scheme.” 

Malfoy looked down at where Harry’s hand clasped his arm, and then looked up at the Gryffindor, raising an eyebrow. He didn’t, however, attempt to shake free, and his cheeks took on a slight pink tinge. “Well you obviously can’t be trusted with even the simplest of tasks,” he pronounced disdainfully, “so how would you suggest I ensure they arrange everything to my satisfaction?”

Releasing Malfoy somewhat reluctantly, Harry scrubbed his hands through his already-chaotic hair. “I don’t know, just, write it all down or something and I’ll take it to them. That way I can at least make sure you don’t scare the shit out of them.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, but assented. “Fine,” he sighed, adjusting his book bag on his shoulder, “Expect written instructions from me at breakfast.” He moved to walk out the door, but paused, looking back over his shoulder at Harry. “Oh, and Potter?” he added casually, before trailing a pointed appraisal down the other boy’s body and back up to meet his gaze, “do keep your hands to yourself unless you intend to do something more interesting with them, hmm?” And with that, he swept out the door, leaving a shocked-silent and suddenly-aroused Harry staring after him. 

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

The sexual tension was really starting to get to Harry. So was the _actual_ tension of trying to get anything planned between himself and the posh, opinionated git that was Draco Malfoy. Harry had delivered Malfoy’s heavy-handed instructions on decor to the house elves (after surreptitiously toning down the language so as to not bring any of them to tears), but there still seemed to be endless details to settle, which were severely cutting into Harry’s weird-angry-flirting time. 

They were only a week out from the ball by this point, and the notes were flying back and forth almost nonstop, degrading into terse, one- or two-line missives scrawled across the same over-used piece of parchment, which was so soft with folding and refolding that it was threatening to tear apart. The two wizards glared at each other across the hall as crane and plane zoomed back and forth, relaying irate exclamations and unsubtle digs over a largely-uninterested student body. 

_**THE MUSIC CAN’T BE ALL WIZARDING, Malfoy. I’ve TOLD you this. Jesus fuck, do you pay attention to ANYTHING I say?** _

**_HP_ **

_Of course I pay attention, I just choose to ignore those parts that I find stupid; it’s not my fault that’s everything that comes out of your quill._

_DM_

_**I swear to Merlin, you’re more of a prick every minute. Just fucking book Lee already!** _

_FINE. I will bow to your nepotism and hire your ridiculous Gryffindor friend to “disc jockey.” Fucking prat. Does that meet your approval, oh Chosen One, or do I have to accede to more of your inane suggestions?_

_**HOW are you STILL such a FUCKING BRAT?! I’m this close to snapping, you have no idea.** _

Harry was riled beyond belief at this point. He continued to glare at Malfoy as he watched the other boy unfold and read the newest note. Instead of immediately scribbling back, however, the blond looked up and met Harry’s gaze across the crowded tables. He narrowed his eyes, looking appraising. Harry raised one brow and crossed his arms across his chest. To his surprise, he saw the faintest of blushes creep up the other boy’s cheeks before he seemed to come to a decision. He looked down and scribbled an answer, folding the parchment efficiently and sending it back toward Harry. 

_Still so easy to rile, Potter. What are you going to do about it? Punish me?_

Harry’s breath caught in his chest as he quickly glanced up toward Malfoy, who was now studiously concentrating on his dinner. Was Malfoy using legilimency on him? Did he know about Harry’s increasingly confusing daydreams? But if that was the case—if he knew Harry’s dirty secret—he’d be waiting to catch Harry’s eye to mock him, wouldn’t he? And Malfoy had certainly been participating in this odd battle of antagonistic compliments. Harry felt his chest tighten as, unbidden, a stream of increasingly explicit images played through his head. Was Malfoy thinking about these things, too? Before his Gryffindor brashness gave way to common sense, Harry found himself scratching out a response.

_**Don’t fucking tempt me, Malfoy. I’m one snotty comment away from putting you over my knee.** _

Not allowing himself to think about what was happening, he quickly charmed the parchment and sent it off. Unable to help himself, he watched intently as Malfoy opened and read the note, his cheeks reddening further. Harry thought he might decide to bow out of his game now, but when he looked up at Harry, his expression was something akin to victorious. When the parchment came back, it contained only two words, dripping with promise.

_Scared, Potter?_

Harry smirked, the challenge settling into his chest—the fierce fire Malfoy had always been able to ignite in him, but with a new, dangerous, thrilling edge.

_**You. Wish.** _

**_Trophy room. Five minutes._ **

Sending the parchment off, he waited until he saw Malfoy unfold it and scan the words, looking up at Harry with eyes burning. Holding the intense gaze, Harry calmly stood from his table—ignoring the concerned looks of Ron and Hermione—and strode toward the exit, his pace unhurried but purposeful. His nerves were screaming but he fought to maintain his self-assured air, hoping that his nervous gulp wasn’t visible as he walked out the door. 

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

 _This is such a bad idea,_ Harry found himself thinking as he paced the deserted trophy room. And then, _fuck I hope he shows up._ And then, _fuck, I hope he doesn’t show up just to mock me._ The room was dusty with disuse, and brought back nostalgic memories of first year rivalries, back before everything had gone to shit. Subconsciously, that was probably why he had chosen it. It was, after all, the first place that Malfoy had gotten him into trouble. It seemed appropriate. However, the last time he’d been here to meet Malfoy, he’d been stood up, Harry realized, cringing at the memory. So there was that.

Thankfully, this time he hadn’t been waiting long at all before he heard purposeful footsteps echoing down the corridor. Moments later, Draco Malfoy appeared in the doorway, looking flushed but determined. His wand was tucked into his trousers pocket and his hands were empty; a gesture of trust, and a relinquishing of power. His eyes met Harry’s across the scant feet now separating them, and heat flared between them, wiping away any uncertainty Harry may have had about what exactly they were doing here. Drawn almost as though by magnets, they both strode forward until, with a stifled moan that could have come from either of them, Harry grasped the back of Malfoy’s neck firmly and Malfoy’s fists clenched in the fabric of Harry’s jumper and their mouths, finally, inexorably, collided. 

It was more fight than kiss as the two boys clung to each other, teeth and lips and tongues battling, fingers gripping too tight. They snogged savagely for several long minutes, gasping harshly for breath as they bit and sucked at each other’s skin, years of fighting and weeks of fast building attraction burning hotly between them.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” Harry growled between punishing kisses, the statement both an accusation and a confession. 

“So do something about it already,” Malfoy returned viciously, biting Harry’s jaw roughly, causing him to hiss in pain and arousal, “I’ve been pushing you for weeks, you infuriating bastard.” With another growl, Harry pulled back slightly, gripping Malfoy by the waist and spinning him around, swifty grabbing both of his wrists in his left hand and yanking them above his head, pinning him face first against the stone wall. 

“Is this what you want, then?” Harry breathed into Malfoy’s ear, not waiting for a response before drawing back his right hand and spanking the other boy once, hard, across his black trouser-clad arse. Malfoy gasped and jerked forward, letting out a shocked whimper. Harry’s breath stuttered at the sound; he could feel himself hardening already. “You want me to teach you a lesson?” he went on, his voice more confident, smacking the other boy again, relishing the sting in his hand as Malfoy groaned and ground against the wall. He rubbed his hand in circles over the firm muscle, biting his lip as Malfoy twitched in anticipation. Leaning in, he ran his nose up the other boy’s neck before biting his earlobe sharply, causing the blond to cry out. “I want to pull these fucking trousers down and watch your arse turn red under my hand,” he confessed, his voice dark with promise.

“ _Yes, fuck,_ fucking do it,” Malfoy gasped, shivering. Clenching his hand over Malfoy’s upraised wrists once, Harry let them go. 

“Keep those right fucking there,” he ordered, before undoing Malfoy’s belt and flies with only slightly shaking hands and yanking them down to his knees. Stepping back, he let his gaze trail over the slightly trembling figure before him before ordering, “Back up a bit. Bend forward, hands braced on the wall.” The other boy complied, shuffling awkwardly backwards a few steps, motion limited by the clothes binding his legs, and folding himself forward, arching his back slightly. “ _Fuck,”_ Harry breathed. Stepping forward again, he hiked up the tails of Malfoy’s pristine white button up, resting his left hand on the smooth skin of his lower back. His right hand came up to caress the just slightly pinkened skin of the other boy’s arse, squeezing lightly and then rubbing circles. Malfoy squirmed impatiently.

“I didn’t come here for a fucking massage, Potter,” he snarked over his shoulder. Raising an eyebrow, Harry swiftly pulled his hand back and brought it down, hard, twice—once on each arse cheek. Malfoy hissed, and Harry watched in fascination as the shape of his hand materialized in a red flush on each side. 

“Fuck,” he muttered again. Malfoy caught his breath and then wiggled again impatiently. Harry could see the blond’s cock hardening, and breathed out hard before landing a fast series of stinging blows across the pale expanse of skin before him, aiming to redden every inch. Malfoy groaned low, slumping forward, letting the wall take more of his weight. Harry continued relentlessly, basking in the soft moans and whimpers escaping from Malfoy’s lips as he rained down an unpredictable combination of light smacks and harder blows until the skin was phoenix red and radiating heat, fascinated and wildly aroused by how clearly Malfoy was loving this. “Merlin, look at you,” he breathed, words falling from his mouth without his permission as he paused to survey his handiwork, palms skating over stinging skin, causing the other boy to wince and whine. “You’re so fucking red. I want to fuck you six ways from Sunday.” Realizing what he’d just said, he flushed with embarrassment. _Stupid,_ he berated himself internally, _what the fuck are you thinking?!_

Malfoy, however, did not seem at all put off by Harry’s outburst. Head dropping, he moaned wantonly, “Do it!”

Positive he had heard wrong, Harry hesitated. “What?”

Looking back over his shoulder, hair sweat-darkened and clinging to his forehead, Malfoy glared at Harry with fierce, glittering grey eyes. “Merlin and Morgana, did I stutter? Fuck me, Potter!”

Wasting no more time for fear that Malfoy would change his mind, Harry swiftly performed several spells on Malfoy that he had heretofore only ever used on himself before speedily releasing his own throbbing cock from the confines of his trousers and pants, grabbing Malfoy by his bony hips, and _pushing_ in one long, indelible, slippery thrust into the fiery heat and tight grip of the other boy’s arse. 

“FUCK!” Malfoy yelped, cringing. “A little warning next time, you great oaf?!”

“Sorry,” Harry gasped out, overwhelmed by sensation, his vision blurring around the edges. He held himself still, desperately attempting not to come immediately. As his mind began to clear, he registered the comment. “Sorry, did you say ‘next time’?” he asked breathlessly. ‘Will there be a next time, then?” 

With an irritated snort, Malfoy thrust himself backward against Harry’s length, using his hands on the wall for leverage. “Not if you don’t fucking _move,_ ” he gritted out. Needing no further incentive, Harry tightened his grip on Malfoy and pulled out most of the way before thrusting back in, hard.

Malfoy let out a huff of surprised breath, then moaned appreciatively as Harry set up a quick, shallow pace. “Fuck, yes,” he sighed. “Just like that. Oh fuck.” 

Harry was completely lost. He knew he wasn’t going to last long; it was too much, too fast, and all he could do was hang on for the ride.

Malfoy seemed to be no better off. One of his hands dropped from the wall to his own weeping erection, jerking it rapidly and without finesse. “Fuck yes, Potter, you fucking wanker, HARDER.” Harry snarled and released one hand from Malfoy’s hip, drawing it back to smack him hard on his already stinging arse. Malfoy yelped and then, on a whine, began to come, spurting messily over his hand and the floor. 

“Fucking…. FUCK,” Harry bit out as Malfoy’s arse clamped around him. Before he could stop himself, he was coming, hard, jerking helplessly as his release shot into the other boy. Leaning forward, he bit Malfoy’s shoulder to brace himself as the shock of it curled through him, pulsing and raw and overwhelming.

“Ungh,” Malfoy groaned, and without further ado his knees went out and he crumbled to the ground, pulling Harry with him. 

“Ow,” Harry muttered, without much heat. They lay on the floor together, panting, Harry’s head still resting against Malfoy’s back. Harry’s cock was hanging limply from the front of his open trousers, while Malfoy’s trousers and pants remained tangled around his knees. From the outside, Harry was sure they looked like the very picture of ill-advised schoolboy debauchery. After a moment, Malfoy managed the energy to fumble around for his wand, casting a quick cleaning charm on them both before rolling onto his back to pull his clothes back into order, wincing slightly as his reddened skin met the cold floor. Harry tucked himself back into place, watching Malfoy silently. Eventually, Malfoy glanced at him, his face unreadable. Finally, he said, “Your vocabulary is atrocious, Potter. Learn some more creative profanity, will you? The word ‘fuck’ is starting to lose all meaning.”

Harry let out a startled laugh. “You should talk, Malfoy! I don’t think I heard another word from you in the past fifteen minutes.” Malfoy just smirked. They held each other’s gaze for a few silent moments. “So,” Harry said finally, “You gonna be a little easier to work with now?”

Malfoy grinned lasciviously. “Not if this is what happens when I’m difficult.”

Harry gave a laughing groan and covered his face. “I’ve created a monster.”

Malfoy snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself, Potter. I was already a monster; you’ve just made me a monster with a sore arse.” 

Unable to help himself, Harry grinned. “I hate you,” he sighed, still smiling.

“Mutual, I’m sure,” Malfoy agreed serenely, before leaning over and kissing Harry softly. Harry huffed out a laugh before winding his fingers through disheveled blond locks and returning the kiss with interest.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

The ball did manage to get planned, eventually. Harry and Malfoy spent rather a lot of time meeting privately about it, in fact, much to the chagrin of Ron, the amusement of Hermione, and the shock and embarrassment of anyone else who accidentally walked in on one of these “meetings” (which often entailed the distinct lack of clothing). 

The night of February 13 dawned cold and clear, but the chill could not be felt within the warm dome of magic that Harry had successfully conjured. Flickering fairy lights wound around the space, complementing swaths of rose and cream fabrics. The tables were adorned with frothy arrangements of peonies, freesia, and wild roses, and the place settings were not Goblin-made silver, but instead a lovely burnished gold that Malfoy had grudgingly acceded fit his color scheme better. Butterbeer flowed freely (as did champagne for the teachers and some of the older students) and people of all ages were soon mingling in a sparkling array of Wizarding and Muggle attire, while in the background, Lee Jordan—sporting a baby blue tuxedo that should have been absurd but actually looked surprisingly stylish against his dark skin—was spinning a mashup of Weird Sisters and Spice Girls that had almost everyone out on the dance floor, bouncing around enthusiastically. 

All in all, the party was a great success—however, it was a success that the men of the hour would unfortunately miss almost the entirety of. This was due to the fact that, after he had ensured that he was happy with how all of the details had played out, Draco Malfoy had retreated to his room to prepare himself for the ball… and reappeared an hour later, once the party was underway, in a stunning silver-grey three-piece Muggle suit and artfully tousled hair that made him, in Harry’s opinion, look like a recently fallen angel. Harry’s jaw went slack as he watched the blond enter, and it didn’t take long for Malfoy’s gaze to sweep across the room and settle on the awestruck Gryffindor, a pleased smirk overtaking his face. Approaching the other boy with a swagger, Malfoy bit his lip suggestively and looked at his former nemesis—who was wearing a form fitting black suit that Hermione had assured him made him look “very handsome”—up and down. “See something you like, Potter?” he asked smugly. 

Harry swallowed hard and shook his head to clear it. “It should be criminal for you to go out looking like that,” he muttered, licking his lips unconsciously. 

Malfoy smirked even harder, his silver eyes glittering mischievously. “Criminal, huh? Gonna do something about it?” he asked with a leer. 

Lust roared through Harry’s veins at the challenge, one he knew he was helpless to resist—not that he was even trying anymore. “Better believe it, Malfoy,” he growled, “I’m pretty sure I promised I’d put you over my knee if you kept causing trouble. And that suit? Is _definitely_ trouble.” 

Heat visibly rose in the blond’s eyes and cheeks as he held Harry’s gaze, the tension palpable between them. Then, without another word, he grabbed Harry by the wrist and dragged him bodily out of the courtyard and toward the deserted Slytherin dorms. 

Minerva McGonagall watched the pair from across the courtyard with amused resignation. It wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind when she’d assigned them this project, but at least it seemed to have brought some life back to them both, and the party had certainly turned out nicely, even if its organizers were likely not going to see most of it. 

With a sigh, the Headmistress took a sip of champagne and shook her head. At least it wasn’t a war. She’d take it.

FIN


End file.
